Then I added my username. I knew full well Dr Inglis wouldn’t have a clue. She’d be Facebook at most. I folded the paper over, handed back the pen, got my meds and, once I was out in the sunshine again, walked casually over to her car and tucked it under the windscreen wiper.
I got back into my car and drove straight over to Cherry’s. She went nuts over my bandaged leg and laughed hysterically at the cut-off trousers, which just annoyed me – it wasn’t that funny – wanting to upload several pics of both of us in our school uniform, mine all messed up. ‘You look so cute! My poor baby!’
Her parents were still at work, so we did it despite my bad leg. She made a big thing of avoiding my wound and going on top, but I kept looking past her at the dressing, where Dr Inglis had touched my skin an hour earlier. I closed my eyes and imagined her instead, trying to block out Cherry’s loud gasping as she busily imagined how hot she looked right now.
Would she do it? Would she message me? The thought that Dr Inglis really might, made me come instantly.
* * *
At home over dinner, Mum tore a strip off Dad for not taking me straight to A&E the night before.
‘My poor little bubba.’ She dolloped some more mash onto my plate as I stared at my phone. ‘And you just told him not to bleed on the car, Gary? How could you?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with him.’ Dad picked up his lamb chop bones in his fingers to get the rest of the meat off. ‘He’ll have done his big eyes bit and the doctor will have gone overboard, that’s all.’
‘Hashtag old and bitter,’ Ruby remarked, getting up to put her plate on the side before sitting back down at the table.
‘Never mind me,’ Dad retorted instantly. ‘Will you please take them shoes off!’ He nodded at my sister’s feet. ‘That’s the second time I’ve asked you tonight. I don’t want this floor scratched.’
Ruby rolled her eyes.
‘When you live in your own place, you can carve your own initials in it for all I care, but no sharp heels past the front door, thank you very much.’
‘He’ll get his felting kit out if you’re not careful, Rubes.’ Mum sat down with her lamb chops and mixed roasted vegetables. ‘And stick those little round circles on each of the stiletto bits. Do listen to your dad though, please, and take them off. The clack-clack does my head in, apart from anything else. It’s like nails on a blackboard.’
‘Oh my god! All right!’ Ruby kicked them free. ‘They’re off, OK? I only kept them on because I’m out in five minutes. You’ll have to make your own cup of tea tonight, Mum.’
‘Hang on, I need someone to empty the dishwasher.’
‘It’s his turn.’ Ruby flicked my arm.
‘I can’t stand up for long periods of time.’ I didn’t look up from my phone. ‘The doctor said I had to keep my leg elevated as much as possible.’
‘You’re such a little shit. Fine. Whatever, I’ll do it.’ Ruby stood up. ‘But then I’m going.’
‘You don’t want any sweet, Rube?’ Mum said through a mouthful. ‘There’s a lardy cake in the cupboard. I bought one for Nan today, and one for us. Just as a treat.’ She looked at me pointedly.
‘No, thanks. I might as well just glue it straight on my hips.’
‘I’ll have some,’ I said, messaging Cherry to tell her I wouldn’t be able to pick her up on the way into school in the morning, because I’d forgotten I had the nurse appointment. She sent me the crying pile of poo and lips emojis straight back. Still nothing from Dr Inglis. ‘If that’s OK?’
‘Of course it is.’ Mum jumped up straight away, leaving her dinner. ‘I’ll get you a plate, sweets.’
‘Mum, he’s got a turf burn, he’s not actually lost a leg,’ Ruby said, and I flicked her the Vs as the lardy cake appeared in front of me, along with a knife and a side plate.
‘Do I get any?’ Dad said, ‘or is it just for Brains?’ He nodded at me.
Mum sighed. ‘I didn’t think you’d want any. You don’t eat sugar during the week.’
I made the mistake of snorting, and Dad rounded on me, hand resting protectively on his flat stomach.
‘Oh, so you are actually part of this conversation then? There was me thinking you were just busy messaging “ickle Chewwy. Wuv you!”’ He nastily mimed a couple of kisses and rolled his eyes. ‘Like every bloody night when we barely get a word out of him. You don’t want to ask me or your mum how the new gym site is coming on?’ he asked me. ‘Or your sister how her day at work was?’
‘Sorry. Do you want some cake then, Dad?’ I looked across at him stonily.
He stared back at me. ‘Yes, please. I do.’
I reached for the knife and cut him a larger than average slice and thudded it onto his plate, before passing it over. Then I cut myself a piece and bit into it.
He clenched his jaw, but picked it up and took a mouthful, trying to be all relaxed as he said: ‘Very nice thanks,’ to Mum, who glanced between us worriedly.
Ruby had wisely put the kettle on after all, keeping out of the firing range. I finished my slice. Watching Dad struggle with knowing exactly how many calories he was consuming left a very nice taste in my mouth.
‘Thanks, Mum, that was great. Is it OK if I go and get on with some homework now?’ I got up with a pained effort and a sharp intake of breath, before kissing Mum on the top of the head as Dad stared guiltily at the crumbs left on his plate. Tosser.
I went upstairs, collapsed on my bed and watched a few vlogs. One in particular made me furious; all he was doing was eating a fucking egg in the garden; it had been up for less than a week and he’d already got 400K views – and no doubt how many thousand click-throughs to his new book. I was so annoyed, I decided to watch a movie in bed, and didn’t even feel much better when I walked past Mum and Dad’s bedroom on my way to the bathroom and saw Dad frantically doing push-ups in their en suite, before jumping up and jogging on the spot to burn off his lardy cake.
I got bored of the film quickly and decided to call it a night but couldn’t get to sleep. My leg genuinely was hurting, and I went back on my phone at about half ten, only to sit bolt upright when I realised a badscissors17 had added me. I accepted and waited, breath held.
I didn’t have to wait long:
I don’t think I like this…
I smiled. It was her.
Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.
And she did, very quickly as it turned out.
But yes, it was her that messaged me first. I gave her the opportunity and she grabbed it with both hands, if you know what I mean.
7
Jonathan Day
Those were the only messages we sent that first night, though. I didn’t want to seem too desperate. Our chat had vanished the following morning anyway, and I wondered if she might regret it when she woke up, delete her account and pretend none of it had happened. But twenty-four hours later, stood in Spoons with everyone and having a shit Friday night because they were all drinking and I’d already had my allocated two, she started chatting again.
How’s the leg?
* * *
Hurting. Mostly because people keep banging into me in pub.
* * *
Keep an eye on yourself!
* * *
Yes ma’am. Not drinking. Obv.
I worried I’d overdone it with that, but she sent me a thumbs up emoji.
Get you. Emoji! I replied. Impressed!
Immediately, the crying with laughter emoji came through. Followed by a unicorn.
Oops. Sorry. Fat fingers. Don’t have a thing for unicorns.
Interested, I stepped away from the group. Was she a bit pissed?
Nothing wrong with unicorns. Very pretty.
I imagined her sat on a sofa somewhere, a second G&T on the go, maybe a third, her husband on an opposite sofa on his phone – I’m not stupid, I’d noticed the rings – an unwatched movie playing on Sky in the background. In other words, exactly what my parents would be currently doing. I waited, but nothing came back and suddenly Cherry appeared under my nose, arms crossed.
‘So, I’m just checking out this situation. Who are you messaging?’
‘My mum. She’s making sure my leg is all right. Why?’ I slid my phone quickly into my back pocket.
She brightened. ‘Oh. OK. So in other news – I need another drink.’